Queen of Hell, King of Sacrifice
by GalwayGirl2
Summary: Harry died, Voldemort too, but evil still has a foothold in Wizarding Britain. Corbin Yaxley has become Minister of Magic and the bastard has plans... not the least of which is institution of a Marriage Law. The last of the Order has to hang its hope on a celebrity couple infiltrating Hell from the inside. Non-compliant AU. SNAMIONE.
1. INTERLUDE 1

**A/N: Thank you, turtlewexler, for your perfect eyes. I hope you're willing to stick along for the journey! And if you are into Snamione, please go check out her works because they are divine. **

* * *

**INTERLUDE 1**

_He was the dark lord_

_Who stole away the bride_

_Of Spring_

_Of Summer_

_Of warmth _-Rhysand

_The Daily Prophet, 15 June 1998_

MARRIAGE LAW ESTABLISHED AS EFFORT TO STABILIZE WIZARDING BRITAIN

_By: Rita Skeeter_

-Less than a month into the transfer of power, new acting Minister, Corbin Yaxley, is making great strides to restabilize Wizarding Britain after a harrowing period of war. His most recent effort includes establishing a Marriage Law with the full backing of the Sacred 28 Judicial Council, the terms of which are anyone of magical blood between the ages of 17 and 50 years old is required to participate in the law.

To each eligible witch or wizard, the Ministry will generously provide a consultant who will assist with compatibility matches between prospective pairings, which the Minister states, "is of the utmost importance".

Lord Yaxley adds, "Our citizenry has suffered loss and the only viable healing mechanism is to rebuild. Rebuild our communities. Rebuild our people. The Marriage Law will help with that."

Due to the unified desire for stability felt across Britain, those witches and wizards that fall within the age range will have six months to abide by the law.-

**1 July 1998**

"You will have her, Snape. I order it"

"With all due respect, Lord Yaxley-"

Corbin Yaxley sliced an impatient hand through the air, the crest of his house glittering malevolently from the ring on his finger. Severus swallowed back his retort and it stuck there in the back of his throat-

With the resentment of being forced into this situation,

With the subsequent resignation that there was no disobeying the Minister of Magic. Yet.

Yaxley, taking the pause for acquiescence, smiled with closed lips.

"I want this marriage immediately and in the public eye. These rebellious rumblings need to be squelched."

Severus merely intoned, "As you wish, Minister."

* * *

**A/N: I KNOW I KNOW. Like I need any more WIPs. But my beta, Jessivyy is the greatest and I promised her a one shot. Which is looking more like a 7-shot. Please enjoy my Hades/Persephone inspired fanfic with a pairing I never thought in a million years I would write. And let me know if I'm crazy to be writing it. **


	2. Seven Pomegranate Seeds

**1 August 1998**

Hermione plodded through the long grasses of the meadows that stretched out in all directions from the Burrow. In the balmy, late summer heat, an abundance of wildflowers stretched to the sky, many so tall that they brushed her bare shoulders as she walked.

She would be speckled yellow with pollen by the time the afternoon was through.

Hermione couldn't give a fig. The flaxen golden meadow had become her haven in the months after the Battle of Hogwarts and subsequent end of the Second Wizarding War. She craved the sun on her skin, the subtly sweet scent of flowers in her nose, the brief suspense of reality.

In fact, Hermione wouldn't mind suspending reality for a good long while if it were at all possible. When Harry died defeating Voldemort, there was a moment in which Hermione thought her magical days were over- for how could she continue to live in this world without her very best friend?

She figured she'd pack her bags, move to Australia, and try one final bit of miracle magic in order to reverse the Obliviation on her parents. Then she'd put down her wand forever.

But her movements were sluggish in those first days after the War, her mind dazed. There were funerals to attend- Colin Creevey, Lavender Brown, Remus and Tonks'. Harry's. Then there were depositions to provide at the Ministry. Excuses piled up until there was a mountain so high that it blocked her intent to leave, and too tired of fighting- _had any 18 year old fought as much as she?- _Hermione collapsed into the comfort of the Burrow.

She still had Ron, after all. Her forever friend.

The label stirred a little sigh of discontent in her throat.

After losing Harry, the grief of it cut a canyon clear through any and all romantic possibilities that neither Hermione nor Ron felt motivated to cross, thus settling into the fraught but fierce friendship they currently had.

Hermione paused in her trek, pulling stiff stalks of fading Lady's Bedstraw from the Earth.

She and Ron felt unmotivated, that is, until the Daily Prophet's posts began. Only the youngest Order members were surprised when Yaxley wormed his way into the Ministry.

"Politics," Arthur Weasley sighed when he showed them the full page spread on the new Minister all those weeks ago. "Those that make up the Wizengamot are tired. They're tired of fighting, of destruction, of debt." Hermione watched, flabbergasted, as Arthur's eyes went particularly wide at the last reason.

"Yaxley came in. Cool and collected. _Remorseful._..and with a plan to stabilize Wizarding Britain."

The young ones like Ron and his brothers gnashed their teeth in protest.

_What had been the point in fighting if the other side could cheat their way to power in the end?_

_ Why was evil such an effective mechanism in politics?_

Hermione's hands, made busy twisting the Lady's Bedstraw into a crown, left her mind to wander obsessively. Turned out, not long after Yaxley was made Minister, it became extremely apparent how evil could be quite effective, especially when such evil aligned with playing by the books.

Legislative mandate after mandate came to pass: a five-year ban on interracial marriage between magicals and muggles in order to tighten magical borders and strengthen the Statute of Secrecy; reinstitution of the Sacred 28 families as a judicial council in lieu of the Wizengamot as harkening back to magic's roots.

The trickle-down effect of these laws, and others, proved more like a flood; almost overnight it seemed the majority of Wizarding society embraced them and chose to sweep the issues of the Second War under the rug. The wide-spreading belief was muggles were best left to their world- unseen- as magicals were left to theirs.

So when the Marriage Law was announced mid-June- Hermione's crown scrunched between tense fingers- the majority of the country didn't bat an eye. The ones who did were forced to make the best of it.

Relaxing her fingers, Hermione placed the crown on her chaotic curls, perfumed into serenity by the Bedstraw, before she continued her path through the meadow. Two months had passed since the law had been announced; two months that Ron has worked tirelessly to ensure him and Hermione were paired together.

Initially he met with a no-name "consultant" to discuss pre-approved pairings but learned the hard way that these Ministry employees weren't interested in any approved pairings but their own.

George came home that night paired to a Selwyn. Pureblood.

Fred the night after paired with Susan Bones. Another Pureblood.

Neither Ron nor Hermione believed it a coincidence.

After that, Ron sunk to bribery, trading galleons of his own meager Auror training salary with various Ministry staff, always avoiding the major players of Yaxley's Cabinet lest he get punished for the conduct.

It wouldn't bode well if Malfoy Sr caught him, or Rowle. Hell, even the lesser threats like Snape would be an inconvenience for Ron's plan.

He needed the two of them to end up together. Hermione needed it too but was less hopeful, especially as news of other pairings reached their ears.

Neville with Padma. Ginny with Zabini. Parvati with Nott. And shockingly enough, Luna with Malfoy. Regardless, they all had the same denominator for anyone with half a brain looking for it.

The Marriage law matched Purebloods with other Purebloods, strengthening the family lines in a diversified fashion and conveniently excluding Muggleborns, presumably so they could die out.

Hermione snorted derisively at the thought. _As if selective breeding would actually stop the capriciousness of nature._

Banishing the worry for the time being, she reveled in the landscape of the countryside now- nature in tangible form- as the blinding, slanted light of the sun cut through the air to disperse over her face. She had to squint her eyes against the blue vastness of the sky and so was astonished with the unexpected crack of apparition.

And, as her eyes acclimated, with the all-too-familiar but still completely formidable black, billowed robes.

"Miss Granger," Severus Snape said after a pause. The words were less greeting, more lure and Hermione balked at what the double agent could potentially want with someone like her. The bottomless black of his eyes traveled from the crown on her head, down her torso in a smooth, enigmatic slide. His gaze then flickered left and right, taking in the scenery.

A spasm pulled at the man's lips- part snarl, part frown- before he started to stride through the grasses toward her at an anxiety-inducing pace. Hermione knew she had nothing to _really _fear from Snape; he'd proven his loyalty to the Order ten times over and it certainly soothed to have a spy in Yaxley's Cabinet.

But… unease still curled into her chest as he pulled up level with her.

She might not be afraid but she wouldn't deny being intimidated.

Sun setting lazily over his shoulder, he looked like darkness personified, risen from the depths of the Earth to prowl among the living. He was ebony etched in glowing red; she wouldn't be at all surprised if he proceeded to offer her pomegranate.

The sardonic thought, despite its implications, had Hermione's mouth go dry.

She shook her head clear, loosening bedstraw petals from her crown, and then asked in a too-polite manner, "What are you doing here, _Lord _Snape?"

The honorific dripped sarcasm, a fact that had Snape's eyes narrowing with impatience.

"Orders. Allegiance. They are one and the same now."

He clasped his hands in front of him, wand relaxed between lithe fingers. Hermione couldn't deny those hands were made for potioneering. Among other things.

She swallowed at the errant, outlandish thought and then asked the newly-minted Lord- who apparently was too good to wear his Ministry approved crested ring- to clarify his statement.

Terrifyingly, the usually stoic man's lips actually twitched with a semblance of emotion.

"The Minister requires a celebrity pairing to help quell some dissension being heard throughout the country."

When he paused, Hermione's heart stopped. _It couldn't be that easy, _the logical side of her brain argued. Her heart though, traitorous thing, had come to rest gently on the dream of her and Ron actually together.

She opened her mouth, tongue flicking out to wet her bottom lip, though Snape continued.

"He's commanded," the word snapped like a whip, like a back bearing too much weight, "that you-"

A pause, a flutter of eyelashes shuttering dark eyes.

A heart that sunk, dream and all.

"-and I are paired. His most trusted Cabinet member with the War Heroine."

His tone belied an irony that Hermione couldn't begin to puzzle out, especially as the entirety of her person was in the midst of rebelling against this information. Hard.

She backed up a step, stiffness in her spine and righteousness on her face as she vowed, "You're mad to think I would agree to it."

She wouldn't agree. She couldn't. It wasn't even the prospect of it being Snape, as her blazing amber gaze dragged from the daunting lines of his face down his looming body.

She swallowed. The air seemed too dry.

Not completely because it was Snape, at least. It was the _principle _for Merlin's sake. She'd rather leave the magical world altogether than abide by any of this farce of a Minister's commands.

Snape seemed to know that as he closed the distance between them again, the air around him intense enough that Hermione felt it ripple against her muggle clothing. Feeling suddenly cool in the thin layers, she shivered. It certainly had nothing to do with the way Snape's voice curled like the bitterest of winds through her body.

"I don't like it any more than you. However…" The word trailed tantalizingly long. Hermione grasped hold of it, of the hope that seemed to propel it forward.

"Yes?" She questioned when he didn't deign to continue. His eyes turned impatient; it seemed like he hoped she'd reach the conclusion without him having to spell it out.

A tightly controlled breath finally hissed from Snape's teeth, landing like snow on her bare shoulders. It refreshed, reenergized. It crystallized like necessity in her blood. Snape then picked up where he left off.

"_However _we could use this to our advantage. Paired together, we can dismantle this corrupt system from the inside."

The words were tempting, oh so tempting, especially with Snape's ruthless energy thrumming like a heartbeat underneath it.

Like a promise of destruction.

Still…

Hermione took a step back and felt the last of August's warmth rush into the empty space, melting away those nefarious motivations. "How can I trust you?" She nearly spat. "You're part of Yaxley's cabinet. You've been made a Lord. The pairing, frankly, just looks like another perk."

All at once, the hazy glow of temptation dissipated with each word that fell from her mouth, as crystal-clear logic filled her mind.

_How foolish I was to even humor his idea, when all these reasons are so evident._

Rage, dark and righteous, brimmed in her stare.

_Fuck Snape and fuck Yaxley. I'll go back to the Burrow. The Weasleys will help._

Mind made up, Hermione waited a moment for Snape to offer up justification or contradiction, but his face remained inscrutable and the sun was now just a richter-slice of gold on the horizon.

It was well past time to go. Darkness was imminent and Hermione preferred to ride it out in a cocoon of blankets and security. She brushed past Snape as she made to trek back.

The man refused to let her go far though; his hand whipped out before she was out of reach, encircling her wrist, hot as a brand.

Hermione gasped and tugged weakly. Her eyes, blown wide, roved over Snape's silhouette and she berated herself for being so foolish again. _Why didn't I just disapparate?_

Snape tugged. Hermione stumbled a step closer to his dark frame.

"What will it take?" He enunciated between bared teeth. Twilight's hazy aura began to drip down from the sky and Hermione stared- she studied the blinding white of his teeth, took in the thin, parted lips.

Stubbornly she tested his grip again to find it firm, unyielding. The devil-of-a-man had left her with this one choice.

_Well, _Hermione puffed out her chest as iron resolve filled her core,_ if he's not going to make it easy for me, then it won't be easy for him. _

"A vow." She answered firmly.

Snape's eyelashes barely fluttered, an indication to Hermione that he was interested. Merlin only knew how she had the skill to decode his facial expressions, but he confirmed it when he finally acceded.

"I don't trust anyone to bind us with an Unbreakable Vow."

Hermione wrinkled her nose. Unfortunately, she agreed with him.

"Then what?"

The sun had all but disappeared and the dusty violet of summer twilight danced across Hermione's eyesight. The world felt ethereal making the deal with Snape feel sensible even as she watched night shiver through the tall meadow grasses, as the last of the day's birdsong faded from the air. Hermione couldn't help but breathe possibility in along with the sweet smell of dry hay and when exhilaration lit her blood, she chalked it up to these factors.

Not the intense, brooding wizard who invaded her space _again_.

Wordlessly he brandished his wand, inky as the imminent darkness, and diffindoed a button from his cuff. With a tentative hand, Snape then removed Hermione's forgotten flower crown from her curls and levitated both objects in front of them.

He twirled a lazy figure eight between both crown and button. A trail of silver light, bright as a star, followed from the wand. Snape's voice rasped in the darkening silence, blunt fingernails on her back.

'A truce be offered for foundation's sake,

Harmony does a tentative truce make,

Equality on the decisions we bear,

Power interchanging to make it fair,

Trust an ultimate goal that's shared,

Refuge from the danger that looms ahead,

Sacrifice when we face the things we dread'

Seven starbursts of light had formed around the floating objects, all sealing together with a brilliant tail of light from Snape's wand. For just a moment, it illuminated the meadow, the swaying grasses, the man's intense stare.

Hermione couldn't swallow past her shock as the mysterious ritual came to a close. Furiously, she repeated the words in her head, over and over like a beloved lullaby, with the hope that she could get back to the Burrow and write it down.

Soon. Now.

Snape seemed willing to oblige her as he took a step forward and plucked the crown from the air. He nodded to the button and said, "It's yours to keep as a symbol of the vow. You could press it if you feel at any time I am breaking my word."

Hermione's mind was spinning so fast with all the new information that she was just able to articulate, "What happens then?"

Snape's smile was gruesome. "Punishment."

His answer was all at once enigmatic and irritating and she still didn't have a clue as to the name of the ritual but those details seemed low on Snape's priorities as he waved his wand for disapparition.

Frantic, Hermione squeaked out a final question. The most ridiculous one.

"And what's the crown?"

Refusing to break stride, Snape hissed the answer before he popped into nothingness.

"My millstone."

* * *

**A/N: I hope this answers your question, Moirai73, about Ron! He will feature in the plot but this is my first attempt at Snamione and therefore will have them as the main attraction! I want to thank turtlewexler again for helping me refine this... my hope is to post an interlude and chapter every month since I am juggling a few other WIPs. Please be patient and thank you so much already for the love and interest! You, friends, are top notch.**


	3. INTERLUDE 2

**INTERLUDE 2**

_He was the dreamer,_

_The wisher, reaching his hands out for something that _

_could not belong to him_

_She was his salvation _-Rhysand

* * *

"So she said yes, then?"

"She had no choice," Severus said although the irony of the statement felt thick enough to choke him.

If there were anyone without a choice in the situation, it was him.

Not that Yaxley knew it. Not that Miss Granger- with even her best researching skills failing to unearth that specific vow ritual- would ever learn of exactly how naught of choice he had.

Severus watched Yaxley grin, lips stretched wickedly, and Severus knew, in the end, it would be worth having no choice right now. He'd sacrificed before, a dozen times over and for a man who had been no better or worse than present company; at least this time he felt more… amenable to the cause.

Miss Granger's crown was shrunk and preserved around his wrist, a near-impenetrable Notice-me-not charm in place for Severus' piece of mind- and yet it still seemed to sear.

And not because it was soaked in the vow's magic. It was because it belonged to Miss Granger.

Severus felt the acidic taste of wrongness slide over his tongue at the admission; he swallowed it down and then reoriented himself to Yaxley's ramblings.

"Have you set a date?" The man cackled in spite of himself, pressing on before Severus could get a word in. "There is still dissension out there among the masses. The sooner you're married, the better."

Yaxley's firm suggestion all at once repulsed and roused him. It was an inner turmoil the likes of which he'd never experienced before. Normally he operated at one level- annoyed- and if insufferable children or do-gooders were involved that level may ratchet up to irate. But to be so conflicted... it was a struggle he'd best never experience again; for the time of introspection and thorough study was decidedly not when Yaxley was staring at him, arched brows and all.

So, Severus tucked the emotions behind well established Occlumency shields and considered how best to divert Yaxley's... enthusiasm. He needed time to satisfactorily suppress the trespassing thoughts he was having and _they _needed time to develop a plan.

Stripping all irony from his tone, he ventured, "With all due respect, Minister, we may wield more influence with this marriage if it were set for a later date."

The air chilled. Yaxley's gaze narrowed to slits over stormy irises and Severus recalled why it was this man who succeeded after Voldemort was vanquished.

Ultimately, the blond Lord pronounced, "Explain."

The crown was heavy and present under his robe as Severus breathed thinly through his nostrils before continuing.

"If it's set for, say, the winter solstice then the press could spend extensive time covering the courting period."

In Severus' mind, it seemed like the ideal scenario. He and Miss Granger would have ample cause to spend time together as he "courted" her through the engagement period- all the while collaborating on a plan to once and for all obliterate this evil bastard.

Preferably before the wedding would need to take place… and if some hollow ache developed at the base of his throat at the notion, Severus would chalk it up to general disappointment of remaining a bachelor his whole life.

Conviction firmly in place, Severus felt a self-satisfied twitch lift the corner of his lips.

"After all, my Lord," he concluded lowly, "anticipation is the sweetest torture."

* * *

**A/N: turtlewexler came through in the clutch and beta'd the hell out of the next set of chapters... which is why you darlings are receiving the interlude a day early! I am refining chapter 2 and plan to post it tomorrow because, as Severus made abundantly clear, anticipation is the sweetest torture. :)**


	4. At Sixes and Sevens

**At Sixes and Sevens**

* * *

_The Daily Prophet, 15 August 1998_

HALF BLOOD PRINCE TO MARRY GRYFFINDOR GOLDEN GIRL

_By: Rita Skeeter_

It pleases this author to have the exclusive privilege to announce that the Office of the Minister just released his Cabinet member in charge of intelligence, Severus Snape, is set to wed none other than Hermione Granger. No date has been set for the wedding and neither Lord Snape nor Miss Granger were available for comment; however, this pairing that has resulted from the Marriage Law Decree holds promising tidings for the rebuilding efforts of our society.

Hermione watched the Prophet's thin pages crinkle in Ron's tense fits. His breakfast remained untouched on the table, a bad sign to be sure, but Hermione could do no more than take in her friend's whitened knuckles. The tension rolling off his hunched shoulders was loud, despite his wordlessness, as well as belligerent.

His energy made Hermione restless in her seat. Additionally, as she sat there in the vibrating silence, it beckoned the absurd comparison of the way Ron emanated tension to Snape's method. _His_ knuckles rarely whitened, _his_ shoulders were never hunched, and the deadliness that vibrated around his stiff form somehow reassured, instead of rankled.

Lost as Hermione was in her mental comparisons, she missed Ron trying to get her attention.

"Pardon?" She asked, her cheeks growing red.

"You're going to get tired of hearing this from me, 'Mione, but are you sure you want to do this?"

Hermione's jaw dropped slightly in surprise.

Two weeks ago when he asked, she'd have internally yelled a vehement 'no' at this arrangement. It was all that the button symbolized, weighing heavy around her neck, which kept her holding her tongue at Ron's relentlessness. Yet, even with the mysterious Vow encapsulated there as a constant reminder, Hermione hardly could stand to be in the same room with her soon-to-be husband.

Now though, after several 'courting sessions' with Snape, the question seemed more like a trap.

"There's no want about it," she evaded but Ron was nothing if not relentless.

His face twisted unconvincingly as he retorted, "How are you even going to pull this off? You need to look cooperative. Happy."

The conversation was starting to grate. Turning away from Ron, she exhaled an impatient breath as she looked out the window over the kitchen sink.

It took everything she had not to grasp at the hidden chain that held Snape's button, to hold onto what seemed like the only anchor in an increasingly vast sea of doubts.

"Am I not capable of those emotions, Ronald?"

Grumbling from him ensued but after a moment, Hermione could feel the tension drain away from his body.

It had taken nearly eight years but Ron finally understood what Hermione meant when she used his full given name. It meant a hard stop, an unyielding call to surrender. Implicitly, Hermione didn't need eight years to know that the same tactic would never work on Snape.

She couldn't help but wonder what would...couldn't help but castigate herself over making more comparisons, even as a thrill traced down her spine.

She suppressed the shudder, and then turned back to Ron. A pile of ash- once the Prophet- now lay in front of him as he proceeded to stuff his face with cold breakfast.

"Is the rest of your family coming to this?"

"Yes," he managed between mouthfuls. "They should be here soon."

Just then, Hermione caught a series of pops from the yard. The Weasley family, at least those who didn't live at the Burrow, filtered in through the side door. Bill helped an irritated Fleur over the threshold; shortly after Yaxley took power they had announced they were expecting, and seeing Bill care for Fleur, well, it was a sight that both warmed and rankled Hermione.

Following close behind were the twins in complementary suits. They still ran their joke shop to great success; however Hermione had heard snippets of conversation as to the reality of keeping the business once they were married. Susan might be okay with a working class man as her husband, but tradition bore that George be home as head of the newly converged Selwyn-Weasley line.

It was a circuitous argument that Hermione and Snape had debated over in the moments during their courting sessions when he could surreptitiously teach her "the old Wizarding ways".

They were ways that Hermione, still, could not come to fathom. Or, frankly, find the desire to participate in.

"Oh! Hello, soon-to-be _Lady _Snape." Fred winked at Hermione good naturedly before going to the stairs to call down the rest of his family. Hermione tried to feign calm as she waited in the midst of all the rambunctious gingers but her stomach was flipping unpleasantly.

She wasn't quite sure why.

Soon enough, Molly, Arthur, and Ginny joined everyone else around the table. Hermione sent a quick pressed-lip smile to Ginny who, for the time being, could be counted among the Weasley ranks. She somehow convinced Zabini to put the wedding off to the last possible minute in hopes that Hermione and Snape may break the system before then.

It was a hope that Hermione could not yet find the energy to harbor. Still, what remained of the core Order seemed ready and willing to help- hence, the gathering.

"Hermione," Arthur smiled his greeting. The rest of the family followed suit, quieting before directing their attention to the sole brunette. "Why don't you update us on things?"

Toffee gaze bouncing around the room, Hermione measured out in her mind what information was relevant enough to pass on to the Weasleys. If she were being truthful, it all felt a little too personal to be considered reconnaissance.

She clenched down as an unruly warmth raced up her neck, heading straight for her cheeks, and started to talk before too significant a pause had passed. It wouldn't bode well to have to elaborate on her discomfort to the Weasley horde and if she were being honest, she should practice a facade of indifference.

Snape had told her time and again her face gave too much away. He also had berated her for not involving the Weasleys in their strategy so today, she planned on following through if only to get the sound of his sneer out of her ear.

"Based on my first session with Snape-"

Bill crinkled his brow. "Session?"

Hermione blinked at the interruption. Having mentally pepped herself up for this talk, she hadn't expected to need to explain basic semantics. "Yes. Session." She said slowly because she wanted this to stick. "It's what we privately call it instead of a date."

The word fell uncomfortably into the following silence but Hermione refused to dwell too long; otherwise the heat would continue its creep up her skin.

"As I was saying," she repeated with a warning sweep of her eyes, "Snape has used our time together to catch me up on wizarding traditions so I know what we're up against. Yaxley is playing by the books so we need to be prepared to do so as well."

Everyone around the table nodded, which was a relief as Hermione, herself, thought the logic weak.

Why would Snape need to actually demonstrate courting rituals?

Why would he have to start every meeting with a stoic bow, his dark eyes locked on her own as if she were his personal lodestar?

Why would he need to kiss the air above her hand, the breath of anticipation shivering across her skin?

Thus far, these "lessons" on Pureblood tradition has taught her nothing but how to be visibly flustered by any brush with the line of intimacy.

Ginny cut into her wandering thoughts with a question.

"So what can we do to help?"

A gesture toward productivity- Hermione latched on with unfiltered eagerness. "Play both sides. Be the anticipatory fiancée and whisperer of dissent." She looked to each Weasley in turn, focused now on the bigger mission. "If your intended is sympathetic to the cause, have them do the same."

Having the only "safe" spousal match in the room, Fred nodded at Hermione. She smiled at him briefly and then turned intent, amber eyes on the adults.

"We know there's dissent, it's the whole point of this farce." She swallowed around the word, throat thick with the taste of untruth. "So we need to capitalize on it. Hustle an organic growth by tapping into known progressives like Neville and the Patil twins. Then we need to find someone to counter Skeeter."

Bill immediately smiled the smile of a true Weasley, one rife with mischief.

"I know someone." And he left it at that, absurdly enigmatic but also thankfully, no longer a responsibility for Hermione.

To that, she sent the eldest Weasley a nod of thanks.

Everyone started to disperse after that and the briefest flicker of contentment thrummed in Hermione's blood. She accomplished what she set out to do with this gathering- maintain a no-nonsense attitude as she entrusted their allies with the strategy that she hoped would bring an end to Yaxley.

That _they _hoped would bring an end before…

Contentment quickly turned to a staccato beat of anticipation as her thoughts ever circled back to Snape. She couldn't even meander through her mind without somehow tying the two of them together with _theys _and _theirs_, as if she and Snape were a unit.

Which, in all fairness, they were operating as such. After all, they had jointly come up with the loose strategy to usurp the tyrant but that fact didn't quiet the beat of her blood.

Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione saw Ginny approach from the other side of the table. The girl had become a stilted friend with the lost link of Harry; when she reached Hermione, they stood in loaded silence for several moments before Ginny finally made her intentions known.

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

The question was soft, tentative, as if it sat atop the most fragile of ice. It was also damn redundant. Hermione held back a sigh of irritation that she seemed to be having this conversation _again_ and instead cast a tempus charm, her stomach flopping at the time.

She was due to her next courting session.

A hand wave dispersed the glowing numbers. Then, with a spared glance at Ginny, Hermione answered the belabored question with more resolve than she felt with Ron.

"I'm sure."

oOo

Severus stood perfectly still as he looked down the main stretch of Diagon Alley. He had been nearly late, _an abomination, _since some inner voice had convinced him to go home and change out of his Cabinet robes.

So now, in the pre-approved meeting point, he stood in shorter, slightly less staid robes to find he was not the abomination at all.

Miss Granger was.

The inner voice reared again, urging him to cast a tempus charm to see exactly how abominably late the witch was, but he banished the thought with a swift contraction of his Occlumency walls.

He would not be seen so obviously waiting.

And that voice, impulsive and irresponsible as it is, would not command any more of his actions today. Severus was a snake, for Merlin's sake. He knew to have more cunning than that troublesome voice could provide.

Nevertheless, he looked down the cobblestone street, implicitly aware of Miss Granger's tardiness, and wondered- not for the first time- why he was subjecting himself to this sham at all.

Yaxley had given him a perfectly no-nonsense directive- marry the chit and subsequently squash the last few voices of dissent. After that, he could have gone back to his habitual brooding, the couple living separate and no-less-fulfilling lives.

But then he had disapparated into that bloody field, catching his first sight of Miss Granger since the battle of Hogwarts, and the most foolish emotion rose in his chest.

It had been hope. A warm, unfamiliar wave of optimism such like he hadn't felt since Dumbledore was alive- all because his former student had met him head-on over a directive he hadn't spent more than a few moments contemplating. The outright rebellion from the chit had been refreshing and remained the only legitimate reason why he stayed, a ridiculous statue, on this bustling avenue of Wizarding Britain at high noon.

He believed he would have caved to Yaxley's impatient whinging a long time ago if it weren't for the utter contradiction of her person. To this day, Miss Granger remained equal parts frustrating and surreal, a daydream he couldn't quite grasp hold of. Then, just like one, she appeared on the far end of the street. She was dressed in appropriately modest, sky blue robes with not even the hem of a trouser leg showing with the swish of her walk.

He watched her shapeless form maneuver the busy lane and oh, how Severus wanted to grasp hold, if only to catalog what it felt like beneath his fingers.

She hurried closer, his thoughts veering sharply into practical, as he concluded there would be more lessons to come if she believed that pace to be appropriate for a Lady witch. As she pulled level with him, his eyes flicked up to the toffee-colored curls that cascaded in every direction.

He wouldn't dare even address the nature of her hair.

"Lord Snape," Miss Granger greeted a bit breathlessly. Color had bloomed in her cheeks; whether from the speed of her trek or something else he did not know- but he was fascinated with the way it made her look alive, more touchable than ever.

His hands flexed as he placed them behind his back. After Severus glared his disappointment sufficiently and the urge to reach out had passed, he offered a deep bow, keeping his eyes unmoved on the ever-changing hue of hers. Inwardly, he couldn't help but reel from the transparency of her face.

It was unbecoming in public.

It was much too intimate.

It was a look he intended on whisking away, into the unknowable dark, where it would be safe and secure.

Perhaps even appreciated.

Severus concluded his bow, and MIss Granger returned the gesture with a hand over her heart and a brief dip of her head. Once he proffered his arm, the two took off down the street before the long overdue meeting could be any more conspicuous.

"You're late," he pointed out, watching from his peripherals for her reaction.

The witch didn't miss a beat, fast learner that she was, and rendered an apology with just a hint of remorse in her tone. Miss Granger's face remained placid, her hand decidedly less so as the pads of two fingers dug into his wrist, crinkling the crown.

It was intended as pain, a pulse of warning.

It wasn't absorbed that way.

They had reached their destination, a tucked-away tea shop with a proprietor who knew how to mind her own business. Having Hermione Granger, war heroine and prevailing spirit of light on your arm, didn't hurt.

Severus seated them at what had become their usual table. A tea pot with varied accoutrements was served and then he was alone with Miss Granger in the otherwise unoccupied shop.

Traditionally, it would be a stain on her reputation to get caught alone with her intended.

Severus found he didn't bloody care, especially with the portly shop owner in calling distance. Until the fated nuptials, this was the closest he could get to her.

Pathetic bastard that he was, he found himself inexplicably longing to take the risk.

"Pour," Severus said shortly, the inconvenience of emotion sharpening the tone of his voice. Studying her, he could sense the threat of an eyebrow raise flicker across Miss Granger's face but she impressively kept her serene demeanor.

Instead, she moved to pick up the tea, murmuring "Yes, my Lord," with enough cheek that Severus actually felt his lip twitch.

Impossible, contrary girl- he couldn't imagine any of his lessons would ever stick. The challenge of making it so, however, was too enticing to let lie.

"How has your day been?" She asked as she handed him his tea. Their fingers brushed on the transfer and the china clattered just a bit once Severus had it in hand.

He attempted to cover the noise with a sarcastic remark.

"Other than waiting for my tardy fiancée," he paused here to take a sip, to drive the point home, "my day has been perfectly ordinary."

Miss Granger took her own, measured sip of tea and then spoke before Severus could reply with the customary "and how was yours?". Eyes dipping down, almost submissively, she said, "After our numerous tea times, I can't help but consider our tea preferences to be a reflection of our souls."

Severus looked straight at her, a strange mix of irritation and admiration stirring his blood.

"I take mine black."

The witch actually dimpled. "Exactly."

Severus remained unmoved. He struggled internally with how to respond to her impertinence, how it was detrimental to their overall task, but the blasted voice broke through, eager with the chance to spar with the fiery witch.

It had been a long while since he sparred with a witch.

Severus leaned in close to the table and said, "If you try it that way, you may like it."

Miss Granger's eyes flashed.

"I'll need to be convinced."

He felt her words echo deep, a gauntlet thrown down to the depths. _You certainly shall._

They continued their tea in silence after that until the weight of their banter became too cumbersome, too overt. After stewing in the serene ritual of tea taking, Severus could no longer deny that the entirety of Miss Granger's… _audacity_… was doubtless just a rehearsal for what was to come of their fake union.

He forgot for a moment they were playing to a pretense. He forgot everything in the midst of the effortlessness of their interactions. Swiftly, Severus shot from his seat with the half-drunk cup still in his hand. He put it on the table and watched ripples dance across the black surface, catching the low lighting of the room, before the tea settled to stillness.

Miss Granger may be all at once ridiculous and accurate with her assessment of his soul, but he best not forget it himself, ever again.

"Your charisma during this session was sufficient, if not a bit bold."

She blinked once at him, slow and in a disoriented way, and Severus forced the rest of the words out, remembering the Vow.

"It will particularly be needed when we next meet."

Miss Granger still hadn't moved from her seat when she asked, "Why's that?"

"Next, we meet the Minister."

* * *

**A/N: Ohhhh my heart is bursting! Over 300 views of the Interlude yesterday within 9 hours of posting and I am so happy that it's pleasing people to follow, favorite, and review! I hope this next chapter is satisfying but leaves you wanting more...like I mentioned in the last set of chapters, plan for updates once a month while I work on my other WIPs. Virtual hugs to you all, especially turtlewexler for her beta skills and jessivyy for her best friend skills :)**


	5. INTERLUDE 3

INTERLUDE 3

_You are the kindest thing that_

_Ever happened to me, even_

_If that is not how our_

_Tale is told. -Nikita Gill_

It was just past dusk on the day before what would have been the start of Hermione's 8th year at Hogwarts, her make-up year as it were, and instead of packing a trunk amidst the chaos of the Burrow, she was strolling through a muggle park in Sidbury, nine-and-a-half kilometers from Ottery St. Catchpole.

Bill's contact for print propaganda was supposed to be meeting her in 15 minutes or so and the melancholy of the day had her restless and shuffling along the path.

With all the developments after the final battle, it became clear that her dream of finishing school wouldn't actually come to past. After that initial meeting with Snape, Hermione admitted that fact to herself and tearfully wrote McGonagall to decline the invitation to return.

That decision shuddered through her now, today of all days. It coalesced in the empty spaces of her body and not even the verdant explosion of flowers, a final desperate plea by summer, could ease the knot off loss at the base of her throat.

Hermione stopped at the edge of a fountain, tried and failed to swallow back the painful nostalgia of days-long-gone; it hiccupped past her lips, a sob punched out of the center of her. Thankfully, the shameful sound was swallowed up by the cheerful gurgling of the water; the same could be said for a passerby's footsteps. They sauntered in close to Hermione who, unnerved by the sudden proximity of a stranger, swung her eyes up with an audible "Oh!"

She almost let out another, more colorful exclamation pass her lips when she saw who was standing next to her but she managed to tamp down on her surprise, lest it become conspicuous.

"You?" Hermione whispered as her awe was eaten up by the rippling water. "You're Bill's contact?"

"Hermione," the voice chided, its tone both teasing and tough as it tickled down her spine. "I thought better of you. Can't Bill's brother also be his contact?"

Hermione couldn't help it; she slanted a look of disbelief at the red-headed man next to her.

Percy Weasley. For once in her life, she was bloody speechless. Then he smiled an utterly un-Percy-like smile with a pithy twist of his lips and the words came pouring back to her.

"What's going on? How are you running propaganda? Where have you-"

He huffed a dry laugh, effectively silencing her, and then tilted his head to the right before he took off down the path. Hermione followed, of course. She also used the moment of separation as a chance to really _see _Percy, who hadn't been in her presence since at least the Battle at Hogwarts.

He had taken to slicking back his naturally wavy hair with some product that darkened the locks to a muted auburn- much less Weasley, in her opinion. The horn-rimmed spectacles had been replaced with less obnoxious thin-wire, square ones but that change was less pronounced than the easiness of his eyes.

Whatever Percy Weasley was doing with his time, he enjoyed it and it showed in the wide-open blue shining there. She caught up to him, so compelled by his vivacity that she hardly spared a glance at his smart muggle clothing.

"So?" She prodded when he continued on his jaunt seemingly content in the silence. Percy's teeth flashed his amusement as his hands found his trouser pockets. He kept his gaze ahead on the path, attention flicking from hedges to trees back to the pavement, before he finally humored Hermione's impatience.

"Your curiosity was always so refreshing," he started with, the observation just shy of wistful but also fleeting in the wake of his story. "I'm afraid, though, I can't reveal everything. It's all too fragile, the unmaking of a tyrant."

Hermione ached with the weight of yet more secrets, more unknowns, but eventually dipped her head in agreement. She could hardly contradict.

"What can you tell me?"

"I was approached by Yaxley shortly after he became Minister. He needed a Weasely representative for the Sacred 28 Council and clearly stories of my ambition had made their rounds with the change of leadership.

So I took it." Percy declared this, slanting a look of prescience toward Hermione, catching the surprise that flared in her eyes.

"It made sense, to continue that impression. I knew it would likely serve my family better to have someone on the inside."

Confidence carried the sotto voice to Hermione's ears and she couldn't help but feel admiration. He was much more Gryffindor than the Weasley clan gave him credit for.

Percy's tenacity, however, dissipated like the dying light of the setting sun once he continued the story into darker, more uncertain territory.

"Then the Marriage Law came and the bastard put a bloody chain around my ankle. I was paired with Skeeter. The Minister's pet."

He exhaled, beleaguered.

"I knew it was no longer safe to associate with my family. I also knew I wasn't going down the Minister's pre-arranged path without kicking and screaming." Hermione and Percy had reached the exit of the park, where a row of towering Beech flanked the walks that led into tow. Under the green canopy it was dark. The sun now set beyond that faraway line of land and sky, left the pair enveloped and in that freedom afforded by dusk, Hermione openly marveled at the man.

She understood now why he was Bill's contact. She also understood quite a bit more about Percy than she ever expected to.

But war begot intimacy.

She imagined this was only the beginning of intimate encounters for her.

* * *

**A/N: Everything's getting progressively longer... which means either I don't know what the definition of a 'one-shot' is or I am unmoored in my chaotic imagination. As such, chapter 3 will likely be delayed as I am deliberating on the next major scene being a part of that section or holding off until next month. Either way, I believe you will be pleased.**

**As for my love, jessivyy, sorry not sorry that this Puff had a sadistic side sometimes. 1k words will have to do for now mwhaha**


	6. Five Ways to Fool a Fascist

**A/N: All the props to my beta, turtlewexler, who calms my chaotic use of commas :) If you want seasoned Snamione (as in not my bumbling debut) go check her stuff out!**

* * *

**Five Ways to Fool a Fascist**

* * *

_5 September 1998, Magically encrypted and trafficked Pamphlet, simply titled_

HELP WANTED

The lies spread by the so-called Minister and his puppet, the Prophet, are just that- lies. He is not interested in rebuilding. He is not interested in perfectly paired couples. He is most definitely not interested in peace, or healing.

Obedience. Continued suppression of a section of our population, specifically the muggleborns. Control. These are the undeniable truths, which we must continue to rally behind because truth shall beget truth and the truth, my friends, is that not everyone in the Ministry's "marriage" program is obedient, suppressed, or tractable.

Have faith in the invisible fighters. And yourselves, fight on.

_Bill wasn't exaggerating, _was all Hermione could think as she wiped the pamphlet clean of the treasonous words. Percy did have surprising flare; then again, in a fight for something as valuable as one's freedom, it was easy to see where Percy found his inspiration.

Carefully, Hermione folded the parchment and tucked it into her bag, for future occasions where a little persuasion may be useful.

At the moment, she wasn't sure if it would be necessary or not. She remained so insulated from the outside world that other than newspapers, and the reluctantly-pulled tidbit from Ron, Hermione was ignorant to the supposed rebellious rumblings. Even now she paced the tiny square-footage of her flat, staring out the window onto a fashionable section of London as if this opening were the only one of a jail cell. She longed for the days she fought for in the war, ones made of pleasure and purpose and when the most irritating matter would be her boys showing up late to dinner at a pub.

Hermione's eyes misted at the unconscious reference of "her boys". Now it was only one boy.

And he wasn't even hers.

The man who was _hers _was an entirely different story, but one which raised similar feelings of bittersweetness in her.

Their last interaction had felt effortless, in spite of all the silly restrictions placed upon them due to the courting period, and yet the harmony they struck fizzled the moment Snape called her actions pretentious.

She had honestly forgotten about that, forgotten that it was all meant as an act.

She just didn't know what it meant if it hadn't felt like one.

Hermione turned away from the window and her eyes instantly found the scrawled note she received from Snape the previous evening, propped against a pile of books on the console table. She didn't need to really see it to know what he wrote.

_4PM. Formal dress._

He hadn't signed it, not even initials, although she was hardly surprised. Only Snape would have the audacity to send along an anonymous message in the perfect, unhesitating knowledge that the receiver would know exactly who it was from.

Smug, self-assured bastard.

Lips unconsciously quirking, Hermione checked the time and saw it was 3:58PM. She scurried to the bathroom to check herself one final time, adding one more layer of color to her lips, and combing her fingers through her hair to maximize the chaos.

Like Percy, she didn't intend to succumb quietly. She didn't really intend on succumbing at all but Yaxley need not know that. She smiled and her teeth sparkled between the full ruby of her lips, all mischievousness.

Then a knock sounded on her door. It echoed through the tiny flat, straight into her chest. Hermione's hands fluttered down her burgundy dress robes, pausing on Snape's button charmed as a brooch, and blew out a breath before finally opening the door.

Snape stood on the other side. His hands were clasped behind his back, pulling the predictable black robes tight across his shoulders. Hermione never realized he had _those _before which made her blush the color of her robes.

A shame since it likely clashed with her lip stain; she truly didn't aim to showcase so much red.

The man inscrutably followed the blush from her cheeks, down her exposed chest where the dress robes were cut in a fashionably low vee, before his gaze dragged back up to hers. He waited, eternally patient and infuriatingly silent, on the other side of the threshold.

Much too belatedly, she stepped out of the way to offer him entrance, omitting the prerequisite "my Lord". She felt since she already so abominably cocked up the moment with her blush and her robes and her- _Merlin help her- _awareness that she might as well muddle the entirety of the introduction.

Hermione turned to him once he was inside. Although she felt embarrassed on the inside, she tilted her head with just the right amount of expectant aplomb that Snape even raised his eyebrows in surprise.

Just a hair but she still caught the expression.

She still felt victorious.

That strange, harmonious feeling was back, thrumming between them, despite them having not spoken a single word. She wondered at this point how to best break that silence when Snape moved; his hand had dived into the inside of his robes and carefully extracted an array of perfectly intact golden arnica, tucked against the canvas of a dark green bay leaf.

The herb of wildness with magical properties to boot… and it was indeed Gryffindor golden in color- no yellow could be so deep or bold in nature. Hermione's eyes flicked between the flowers and Snape, asking a question. She could almost hear his teeth grind at her "insufferable swotiness", but she needed to know- was this an attempt at honest connection?

Or would she find herself strangely disappointed by the continuation of the pretense?

"It's a gift," he said flatly and she felt the strange mixture of censure and charity in his voice. "For my intended."

The words couldn't suffice the insatiable appetite of Hermione's curiosity with regards to Snape so she chose to poke the snake.

"Do you consider me wild, then?" Her head cocked to the side in sly consideration and the wild mass of curls tumbled as well, leaving her neck exposed. She imagined the rapid pulse of her heart visible to his cutting gaze and swiftly she straightened. Best not bare her throat to fangs.

Snape, unamused, growled his reply. "Indeed. You require a certain measure of protection for where we traverse next, more than I could possibly provide."

Sarcastic remark aside, Hermione warmed at his thoughtfulness and finally took the delicate corsage. She avoided his fingers but felt the warmth lap at her anyway.

Swallowing, she murmured, "Thank you. Milord."

"Severus," he replied, rough as gravel. Heat built between them and still his obsidian eyes bore down, unself-conscious, unyielding, as he explained, "It creates a sense of equality to use my given name."

_Or intimacy, _she thought and Hermione tilted her head as she considered his words. Each of their visits appeared like another step in the direction of fulfilling the Vow, the specifics of which still frustratingly eluded her. For the moment, though, that was neither here nor there.

A teasing smile turned her rouge-stained lips as she ventured, "So does that mean you'll call me Hermione?"

She twirled the flowers in her hand and as the moment stretched uncomfortably, she fiddled with the stem until it could be curled, then magically extended, so that it could encircle her wrist and hold with a sticking charm.

If she were in front of a mirror, she imagined the effect would look innocent, pure even, and she hoped that Yaxley would devour that lie with a spoon.

Looking at Snape, at… _Severus, _she imagined the effect not as convincing. His brooding had stretched to near inappropriate lengths even as it flicked to study her manipulation of his gift; Hermione wondered if he was rolling her given name on his tongue the way she had with his.

She wondered why it caused flutters in her stomach, then she quickly squashed them because she wasn't about to be misled again by this man.

The only fool today would be Yaxley.

"We should go," Hermione conceded as she accioed a black satin wrap to her shoulders. "It wouldn't do to leave the Minister waiting."

She knotted the fabric across her exposed skin and it was like a jolt to Snape; he placed his hand a hairsbreadth from her collarbone when she started to move for the door, unescorted.

"I Vowed you equality, MIss Granger, and you shall have it when you use my given name." A pause, coupled with a sneer. "It will likely be more convincing than the airs you presently have."

He offered his arm then and strode them out the door, full of purpose and power. Before he could disapparate however, Hermione launched up on her tiptoes to whisper into the hard lines of his jaw as she refused to be the only uncomfortable one.

If Snape wanted equality, he was going to get it in spades.

"I think you underestimate me, _Severus._" The syllables slipped out, siren-like, and Hermione felt almost caught in her own web.

Then Snape's jaw hardened.

Provocation pulsed in the hollow of his too-tight cheek before he launched them roughly into disapparition, and the sweet aftermath of their parrying was left in the dark hallway of her building.

_\- Unoccupied side entrance to Ministry of Magic- _

They landed and Severus instantly dragged her along. Logically he knew that he couldn't actually separate Miss Granger from the coy witch that had challenged him in the poorly lit hallway but his body seemed intent on pressing forward, as far away from that iteration of her as possible.

It was undiluted self-preservation on his part, coursing through his veins like an antidote … unfortunately he felt like he had already been compromised. They reached a stairwell which he began to ascend, Severus in front but with a hand still latched on Miss Granger, like the physical contact could somehow contain her audacity, her allure.

She was huffing behind him; not from exertion, though. The humid puffs of irritation tangled with the strands of his hair and so he walked faster.

"Consider this your first true test, Miss Granger. It is the presentation that would occur had I living parents."

Severus sensed her curiosity flare to life but he refused to entertain it, even on a subconscious level; there was too much at stake with this first, formal meeting between the witch and Yaxley. Both their priorities needed to remain fixed on getting this right.

Having reached the appropriate floor, Severus paused before the door that would lead to the Minister's suite of offices. He turned to face Miss Granger, finding her expression wiped clear of whatever inane emotions she may have felt on the terse climb.

His heart thumped twin beats of worry and admiration. He had never had to play spy with someone at his side before, but in this moment, breath released from his tight chest cavity in a thin stream of wary relief. If he had to be paired to a woman, he supposed he could manage with her.

He latched his gaze onto her steady, brown stare.

"Be ready."

Whispering a spell to open the door, Miss Granger snaked her fingers through his, turning confidently towards the opening and then tugging a stunned Severus down the hall. He couldn't even find himself caring that she knew exactly where she was going because he was too engulfed by the warmth radiating from her hand.

He wished he wore gloves.

He was glad he didn't.

They arrived, and without a knock to harken their presence, Yaxley's voice bid them enter. Severus still hadn't looked at Miss Granger since the stairwell to see if she was maintaining appearances, but the time for his guidance was done as they were met with the calculating blue of the Minister's stare.

Dislodging herself from what Severus realized was his fierce grip, Miss Granger removed her cloak and handed it to him, then stepped forward to execute a flawless curtsy with her head bowed and the customary hand over her heart. She leaned into it a moment more than was necessary as it gave Yaxley's curious stare the opportunity to dip to the shadowed valley of Miss Granger's chest.

The Minister swallowed as the witch straightened from her position of respect.

Severus thought her strategy impressive, as well as recklessly Gryffindor. He _felt, _however, like the Minister deserved to have his lecherous eyes washed out by one of Severus' finer acids.

He had to have something in his potion stores to make them burn…

"Welcome," Yaxley intoned and the word so weighed with expectancy cut through Snape's plotting. He found the Minister staring at him, waiting, and Severus realized his bloody mistake.

He dipped into a perfunctory bow and before it was even complete, moved forward so that his hand could hover at the small of Miss Granger's back.

"May I present my fiancee, Miss Hermione Granger?"

Her given name rolled off his tongue, as natural as any dark curse and tasting quite similar to one as well.

Decadent. Forbidden.

She had spasmed when he did it, knocking into the firm wall of his hand. Severus found her yet again as an all-encompassing warmth, his hand drawn to it like any cold bastard who lurked in dungeons was wont to do, and the pads of his fingers pressed into the dimples there.

Perfectly tailored finger holds on a sheer cliffside.

Yaxley's gaze continued to flit between them in a sort of lazy consideration, landing solidly on Miss Granger after far too long a pause. Yaxley began to circle the pair; he waved off Severus who reluctantly stepped back from the witch as the Minister took in the full effect of Granger.

Top to bottom. Front and back. Naked hunger burned in Yaxley's eyes as he spoke during the perusal, "I am most pleased to meet you, Miss Granger."

He paused a moment when he was fully behind her. Severus felt like cursing- all that time working on the chit's transparent face and the Minister could care less about what could be seen there as her back side provided such more exciting _viewing_.

"I must say," Yaxley finally drawled, recommencing his walking evaluation and returning to Miss Granger's front, "I am surprised how well you know Pureblood etiquette."

_You are ravishing_, is what Severus heard between the easy breaths, the wandering gaze.

Miss Granger remained unperturbed.

"I like to know what I'm getting into," she replied, all cheek.

Yaxley leaned in and Severus' skin prickled.

"And what is that?"

They were too bloody close and yet Severus could only stand there, a useless sentinel as Yaxley searched for holes, prodded for deficiencies. Miss Granger threw her hair over her shoulder, the motion affording enough distraction that she could take a tiny step back as both men were caught in the coy batting of her eyelashes.

"Why my Lord," she hummed, "a marriage contract, of course."

Her brown eyes, full of mirth, dark with secrets, swung over to Severus like a rope to pull him back into the space. He simultaneously cleared his throat and stepped forward and Yaxley smiled contentedly.

"Indeed," was all he said as he nodded at two straight-back chairs- the man never wanted his guests too comfortable- then circled around his enormous oak desk to sit in what could only be called a throne.

It was lined in purple velvet that desperately wanted to be black, with an ornately carved back on which to place one's head. Yaxley cocked himself just so and the carving hinted at a crown hovering above his thin, pale locks.

Once they were all seated, he called some liquor from a neighboring cabinet, pouring the heady brown stuff with indolent flicks of his wrist. They all took the heavy-cut crystal tumblers in hand; Severus and his companion then waited for Yaxley's toast.

It would be an official seal on the presentation- a symbolic approval as it were, to share a drink with the intended- and Severus' breaths shortened with disquiet as Yaxley remained silent, merely fingering his glass.

"You know, Lord Snape," he finally ventured, "she will need much more guidance. She flirts with the line of decorum."

_Is she controllable? _The inquiry hovered within the speculating tone.

Miss Granger's ensuing laugh was full of knowledge. It drew Yaxley's eyes away from the rim of his glass. "It's a fault of mine, true. I must beg your leniency on this, my Lord, for the request I've brought today could certainly be considered most indecorous."

_Bloody. Fucking. Minx. _

Despite his impressive restraint, Severus had to physically clench his jaw so that he didn't turn a deadly stare upon his entirely reckless fiancee. It took every ounce in him, and more, to not demand with a wordless 'Legilimens' an explanation as to why she was going rogue.

Yaxley actually hissed through his teeth, so affected he was by Miss Granger's tease. If Severus were in a better mood, he would reluctantly concede that she clearly hit a nerve.

He had never been further from being in a better mood.

Yaxley, clenching the glass between both hands, raised a brow at Miss Granger. Frostily he said, "Pray tell."

"Unfortunately, Minister, my parents are out of the country on an extended holiday. I doubt that they will be back when Severus and I marry."

She stole a glance at him, and there it was again; the tumble of his name like the tumble of alcohol through the blood. Miss Granger's expression wavered as they locked eyes. Then she must have seen something in his that reaffirmed her commitment to the act, as she turned her attention downward to the austere brooch pinned at the gathering of material. She slid a finger over the design, then continued.

"It would please me, Minister, if you would be the one to escort me down the aisle at the ceremony."

The whole room seemed to solidify into a state of shell-shock, an all-encompassing Stupefy save for the dark doe-eyes Miss Granger was blinking in Yaxley's direction. Remarkably, at least in Severus' estimation, they seemed to work. The room softened as the surprise of her request wore off- Severus felt like he could breathe again, albeit agitatedly, and Yaxley's overall demeanor flowed from suspicion to shock to a sick satisfaction.

It made Severus' stomach turn, even as it provided assurance.

They did it. _She _did it.

Yaxley lifted his lass, looking straight at Miss Granger, and toasted.

"I can drink to that."

Severus took a sip, glad that his trademark was stoicism. He listened to the Minister set a date.

December 21st. Winter solstice.

Then he drained his glass and beckoned to Miss Granger who cooperated, thank Merlin. Leaving, retracing their steps, Severus watched the seductive nearly obsequious mask fall away with each convulsive tremble, each stuttered breath.

By the time they reached the stairwell, Miss Granger was reduced to a bundle of frayed nerves. Her hands were knotted on the top of the brooch, drawing Severus' more intense interest.

He took out his wand and then tapped on her hands, gesturing them away. It took a few spells but eventually he landed on a counter that bled the brooch's illusion to nothingness… and revealed the button.

His button.

Severus' dark eyes couldn't help but find hers and they were back to being toffee-smooth and open. Dangerous.

His throat worked around all the things he was burning to say. Finally, Severus settled on. "Were you afraid I wouldn't uphold my side of the Vow?"

Her lips turned up in a tired but rather real smile.

"I was afraid you would uphold it too well."

An indirect question followed by an indirect answer- he clearly wouldn't trick her into honesty that he desperately wanted, but since he was feeling much too weary by the interaction with Yaxley, Severus fell back into more comfortable waters.

"It was you who didn't follow it," he sniped.

_Equality in the decisions we make._

What decision? What fucking equality?

His mind, despite the agitation, yet strayed over and over to the button she grasped between tense fingers. Miss Granger eased away from his sour mood, intent upon exiting. She started down the stairs, unescorted as usual, throwing a sheepish look of apology for her impertinence over her shoulders.

However, as she reached the next landing, she halted. Her whispered words were stiff as they ambled their way up the stairs, like the tautness would somehow keep them from wandering off.

"I knew you wouldn't agree to the sacrifice, which is why I didn't say anything beforehand. Regardless, it was mine to give." Then she disappeared into the shadows of the stairwell.

oOo

_10 September 1998_

An elderly witch sat and drank tea in her moss-covered stone cottage at the edge of Northumberland where the county meets Scotland's Carham. The sun was still making its lazy, early morning trek across the sky, illuminating a friend's apparition outside the sitting room's picture window.

"Come on in, Bea," the elderly witch called and a second woman entered the home, clutching a Daily Prophet in her hands.

"You'll never believe this," Bea declared. Her cerulean, excitable gaze bounced around the room. She handed her friend the paper and then proceeded to twist her hands in knots.

The other witch read the headline out loud, her disinterested voice giving way to disbelief. "Engagement ball to be held for Hermione Granger and fiance Lord Snape!" She trailed into mumbles after that outburst and skimmed the article quickly; occasionally a detail would be too juicy not to articulate so Bea heard her once exclaim "in nine days!" Then again, in awe, "at the Longbottom estate? Really?"

When she finished the article, she looked to Bea who seemed ready to spring out of her skin from all the drama.

"They've invited the whole judicial council," the woman commented. With the initial shock of the article worn off, ennui resettled into her aching bones. "It's nearly a royal affair."

Neither the flat tone nor the ironic words seemed to dampen Bea's spirit, however. She took a seat on the ottoman in front of the elderly witch's armchair and squeezed some passion back into the cool, wrinkled hands of her friend.

"Who would have thought that Britain's war heroine, the one who rebelled against tyrannical governments, would sail so smoothly into an arranged marriage?" Bea's eyes twinkled with deep secrets as they caught the other woman's.

After a beat, both of them laughed uproariously.

oOo

_19 September 1998_

_Happy birthday to me, _Hermione sighed to herself as she paced the miniscule footprint of her flat. Dusk had arrived while she was knee-deep in her pity party, a fact she was aware of but unable to muster the effort to change.

Pity party or no, Hermione's reality consisted of that one birthday wish. With her parents gone and everyone else's attention turned on the engagement ball, it was very likely she would go to bed this evening without any reflection on the year coming to a close or any reflection on the year ahead.

It had been a hard year too; she would have loved the closure with family and close friends. Unfortunately it seemed that her 19th birthday was shaping up to be one of her least favorite birthdays.

Hermione stopped in the middle of her living room, beyond sick of the pathetic helpless feeling permeating her life. She was young, healthy… alive, unlike others. She also had power and purpose, involved as she was in this double agent lifestyle.

Reaffirmation of these truths banished the lingering pity in her chest. Snape was due any moment and Hermione would rather be found standing tall, proud. Smoothing her hands down the cool gold satin of her dress, it felt near impossible to not be proud- at least in her choice of formal wear.

It had taken quite a bit of galleons and several nights holed up in a discreet, muggle tailor shop, but the end result was worth it. Hermione did a little twirl in the Arnica-inspired gown and the petal-shaped cuts of satin fluttered around her. The whimsical motion of the bottom half of the dress was made sleek and sophisticated with the addition of lace covering her exposed back.

She chose to style her hair up and out of the way so the delicacy of the white fabric could be seen and appreciated. Closing her eyes and imagining the vision she cut, Hermione worried that it may have been too bold a move to design the dress this way… yet as small and as stiff the gesture of Snape gifting her the flowers was, it still reverberated down into her bones.

There, it didn't feel like a simple corsage followed up by a terse explanation.

There, it felt like the first ripples of truthfulness, of purity, tentative tendrils reaching out to see if this could work.

Hermione wasn't sure what 'this' really was, but she couldn't recall the last time she felt so openly vulnerable with someone, and it was not as if the war lacked exposure.

She felt thrilled and terrified by the prospect that it could be Severus- dark, dismal, double-agent- Snape that drew out the emotion within her.

A hard rap at the door and Hermione immediately opened her eyes, dispelling the fantasy. _At least for now._

She walked over, retrieving her clutch off the console table, and opened the door. Without hesitation, she dropped into a curtsy having learned her lesson from last time, but as her body rose so did her eyes and everything froze at what she saw.

Snape stood there but he seemed too loose, as if the anchor that usually weighed him to the ground had disappeared and in doing so, left him uninhibited.

Expressive. A myriad of emotion cascaded over his face, as fast yet subtle as sand dragged into the ocean. Hermione couldn't decipher a single feeling there but oh, how he _felt_.

After a while her knees started to ache so she straightened and gestured him into her home. The two strides it took to enter was enough time for Snape to recalibrate; when he turned and bowed a return greeting to Hermione, she could see his apathetic mask back in place.

But now she realized, that's all it was. His brooding, fatalistic eyes, his disdainful sneer- it was all superficial and clearly hiding something beneath.

Hermione badly wanted to know what that was.

Snape's eyes darted downward as he cleared his throat; then he revealed a box clasped between gloved hands.

A velvet box, long and rectangular, weighing nothing of significance and yet prophetic enough to set her heart racing. She took it, opening the lid slowly as if she could contain her reaction with similar deliberate movements, but still was unable to contain a slight gasp at the contents.

Inside, on a pillow of white satin lay a gold bracelet. The chain was made up of delicate threads woven together like a braid, with nothing else to adorn it. It was breathless in its simplicity and perfect; no one had ever bought Hermione such a frivolous but luxurious gift before.

She pulled it from the box and cradled it with both of her hands, looking to Snape for the usual explanation. For once, his mouth didn't automatically spout some dry recitation of Pureblood etiquette. His lips had softened from the sneer to a line of open reverie.

She locked onto them, marveling at their undemanding presence, then found herself rambling just to cover the tension.

"Pureblood etiquette dictates a gift of jewelry from wizard to witch as a public declaration." Her voice lifted at the end, a question.

Snape bowed his head and it brought them closer together, the dark fathoms of his eyes as endless as night, such that she didn't even realize he had plucked the jewelry from her hands and was fastening it on her left wrist.

The gloves felt impersonal on her skin; she thought of telling him so but once the bracelet was secure, Snape moved to step back a proper distance away.

Impulsively, Hermione grabbed the lapel of his formal jacket to stall him. Her other hand plucked Snape's arnica corsage- under stasis and back in its initial form- out of her clutch. Threading it through the buttonhole of the jacket, she tilted her head up to find Snape, warring over whether to look over her head or into her eyes.

When they finally connected with her tentative toffee-colored ones, she rewarded him.

"Consider this a public declaration of my own."

Snape tilted his head down, infinitesimally slow, and Hermione tasted his response as it fanned over her skin, rich as desire.

"As you wish."

She smiled her pleasure fully, moving toward the door unattended yet again which gave Snape the perfect opportunity to slip a second gift onto her console table with no one the wiser.

* * *

**A/N: Wow! I am surprised by the response to the previous interlude. It's amazing the feelings Percy can evoke haha but I would like to clarify here (and I made the change in the summary of the fic) that this is a SNAMIONE, I swear. I may go back and change some potentially misleading lines from the interlude but hopefully this chapter continues to solidify the pairing I am working with. I hope you found it worth the wait. NaNoWriMo has been less than productive for me.**


	7. INTERLUDE 4

**A/N: PLEASE NOTE THE TIME AND DATE OF THIS INTERLUDE. And then join me at the end before you bring out the firing squad ;)**

**As always, appreciation for turtlewexler coming through with the quickness and fixing all of my terrible American translations to British.**

* * *

INTERLUDE 4

_Tell me losing everything is what saved you_

_Don't lie… I see it in your eyes _ -Clementine von Radics

* * *

_-2AM, 20 September 1998-_

Severus had been stuck in the same position since he returned home over an hour ago, head held heavily in hands kept up by elbows on knees.

He deliriously considered that if he sat still long enough, perhaps the monumental mistake he made only a couple hours earlier would cease to exist.

The minutes ticked by on the large grandfather clock in his foyer, echoing loudly in the quiet early morning hour, and still the crown around his wrist pulsed wildly.

Which meant Hermione's heart was still racing.

Severus' fingers yanked hard on the roots of his hair at the slip. Not that it mattered much now, he thought, lifting his head so he could stare at the crown. Calling her Miss Granger instead of Hermione made no difference.

Things were in motion. Permanent things.

His mind drifted to the Vow, its chant loud in his head, but the words always broke on the middle line.

_Power interchanging to make it fair_

He knew when he added that line it would be the riskiest one, but Severus, being a veteran of risk, trusted in his ability to remain detached. Memories of tonight burst through his mind just then, a comet flash of blinding light.

It seemed his bloody brain had forgotten the definition of the word.

He pushed out of his seat and the visions scattered like puzzle pieces as he honed in on a new purpose. Moving out of his kitchen, he stalked to the cramped bookcases of his front living quarters, looking for the book that started this whole mess.

He thought he knew what he was getting into but _obviously _Hermione turned out to be more trouble than he accounted for.

Belatedly he registered the second slip. _Fuck. _

_-Outside Spinner's End-_

Unbeknownst to Snape, said trouble stood down one side of Spinner's End, shuffling her feet side to side. It had taken her nearly 45 minutes after Severus had deposited her on her doorstep to unfreeze from the shock of the evening's end and hastily disapparate here...wherever here seemed to be.

Hermione had nothing but Gryffindor nerve and a thundering, pulsing button clenched in the palm of her hand for direction.

Miraculously, she landed, unsplinched, in this dirty quiet street. The buildings crowded around her like dark, brooding sentinels, making the pavement feel claustrophobic; Hermione initially tried hurrying down the lane despite having no real idea of where she was going, when she smacked head-long into a web of wards.

They felt as inflexible and intricate as their suspected weaver. She placed her hand against the invisible wall.

Her fingers tingled. The button seemed to expand, a sole powerful pulse of energy.

Deep down, Hermione knew the house was there, likely behind a rather powerful Fidelius charm.

She wondered at the Secret keeper. Then, with a startled step back, she was struck by the thought that it would be her, 3 months from now, when the home was theirs.

The word reverberated strangely in Hermione's mind, its echo filling up all the empty spaces. That, coupled with the button's still-steady beat, urged her forward to brash and thoughtless action which took all of Hermione's logic to withhold from following through.

She thought she knew what she was getting into with Severus, but clearly the matter required more research, more introspection.

Backing into the dark unseeing corners of the alley, the memories of the evening rushed to her head, the blood subsequently rushed to her cheeks.

Maybe, just maybe, it even required more of _that._

* * *

**A/N: I know, I am infuriatingly and deliberately vague. All I will say is I struggled with what this Interlude should look like exactly and after a long bout of writer's block, was struck with the vision of Snape (who is more Keanu Reeves-esque in my head) in the very same position that he starts this short passage with. I appreciate all follows, favorites, and reviews, as long as you trust that YES I WILL BE VISITING THE BALL in the next chapter. We all must have our suspicions allayed, eh? Happy holidays. **


	8. If these Four Walls could Talk

**If These Four Walls Could Talk**

* * *

-8pm, Longbottom Estate, Helmsley, Yorkshire-

Hermione waited on Snape's arm in the gigantic, opulent entryway of Neville's estate. She had expected many things when he apparated them here, the most pressing that the trip would have spiked her anxiety into vomiting all over her gorgeous dress.

The unexpected occurred; her dress remained clean. Moreover, she was unexpectedly speechless over the sheer _vastness _of the home. Her only examples of Pureblood residences were the Burrow- certainly an exception to the rule- and the other extreme, Malfoy Manor.

Neville's fell somewhere in between the two. Although it was grand, much like the Malfoys', with its intricately carved wainscoting and ebony-inlaid staircase leading up to a first-floor hall double the width of her flat, the space retained the warmth of existence. Hermione didn't know how quite else to articulate it- there wasn't evidence of the space being lived in, and yet it was lived.

After an extraordinarily long wait in which she was able to soak in the details, Hermione watched a well-dressed man enter from two double doors on the far side of the entryway. As he got closer and more recognizable, she had to suppress her gasp of delight.

Neville stopped a meter or so in front of them, positively beaming at Hermione.

"Welcome," he said.

Beaming herself, Hermione moved to hug Neville but was cut off by Snape who stepped to partially block her path. He scowled down at his former student.

"It is unforgivably rude to leave the guests of honor waiting, Mr. Longbottom."

The blond stood his ground, quirking his head as if he were viewing Snape through a magnifying glass like he was a new species of magi-plant. A beat of tightly twined tension passed between the men and then, remarkably, Nevile smiled as openly as he greeted Hermione.

"My apologies," he replied without an ounce of remorse. "Follow me."

Neville turned on his heel, the tails of his traditional black suit swishing around to follow him. On Neville, it looked out-of-place, a picture ripped from a history book. Then Hermione peered closer; on Neville's proud, straight-shouldered frame, it looked impressive too.

Hermione took after him until she was halted by Severus' firm grip on her shoulder. She threw a look of irritation over her hand to his stony face- truly he was being a bit overbearing with _Neville _of all people- but then she saw the look of warning etched there.

It reminded her they were in the middle of a dangerous game, and she had a line to walk between civility and facade. Now wasn't the time for sentimental reunions, and so instantly, Hermione cleared her face.

Snape nodded once then tucked her hand into his elbow.

Neville, having already crossed the large room, called, "Are you two coming?"

They caught up and wound down the roomy yet barren halls. The walls lacked any sort of decor, even windows, and although the carpet under Hermione's heels felt plush enough, the drab gray reminded her of a Ministry office.

She picked her words carefully. "Neville I didn't realize you… inherited."

Snape's arm tightened infinitesimally on her fingers; she looked to him but found his eyes forward and as usual, unreadable, leaving her with no indication of what she did wrong. Neville, too, seemed to have mastered the enigmatic mask as he turned his head slightly towards her to answer.

"My gran bequeathed it to me when Lord Yaxley became Minister."

Hermione heard it then, the slightest stressing of the title 'Lord', and silently berated herself for not being more prepared for the challenges this night would bring.

Her two worlds were about to collide, and she needed to be ready to walk the delicate line between the two. Her collaboration with Snape depended on it.

His bracelet glinted in the low light of the hall and her eyes focused on it, its weight surprisingly solid against her bare wrist. An anchor to her expectations… and, perhaps, to security. She reveled at the feeling of smooth metal against bare skin when Snape next spoke.

"It seems that no house elves were bequeathed with the house if you've been lowered to escort guests, Longbottom."

Snape's assessment was poison-dipped and cuttingly slung, drawing Neville to a stop just shy of a new set of double doors. They were oak and looked very broad indeed, yet Hermione could hear the indistinct hum of socializing bodies behind it.

"Lord, if you please," Neville replied just as pointedly.

The two men stared one another down until Hermione's nerves had her clearing her throat. A set of brown, inquiring eyes and black, cryptic ones swung toward her. She nodded at the doors.

"I think it's time."

Neville gave her an encouraging smile. "It is."

Unsheathing his wand, he magicked the doors open, revealing a stunning and very full ballroom. Chandeliers as big as vehicles hung from the ceiling, dressed as opulently as some of the female guests with large strings of crystals draped from the metalwork. The rest of the room - although Hermione hesitated to call it that based on its size- was bathed in magical balls of light that threw off both a golden glow and warmth.

Hermione tried to mask her awe as she stepped over the threshold, only to visibly startle when a gravelly voice proclaimed, "Lord Severus Snape and his fiancee Miss Hermione Granger." Off to the left, stood a house elf on a decorated platform. The creature itself was also dressed from head to foot in tasteful, elf-sized formal wear.

Warmed by the idea that Neville employed free elves, Hermione nearly gushed a 'thank you' but the creature was looking behind her, at Neville who just entered. Snape was looking in that direction as well with an expression that resembled someone who just ingested a boogie-flavored Bertie Bott.

It settled Hermione, that flash of feeling, an essential echo of Snape, and the night stretched ahead of her suddenly felt manageable. Dislodging her hand, Hermione floated her touch up his arm to garner his attention. Snape's muscles flexed. He turned his head down to catch the message in her eyes.

_It's okay, _they shined.

_Let's concentrate, _and the chocolate brown of her irises deepened the longer she looked.

After a telepathic moment, they turned to find every gaze in the room focused on them. It was evident their entire exchange had been observed, dissected, like some miscast spell that led to the victim's skin to be shaded puce.

No one quite knew what the bloody hell was going on.

Hermione liked it that way. She applied pressure to Snape's arm who, as if on command, started to guide them forward. Knowing the importance of hierarchy in this situation, she murmured, "the Minister?" He only wove them through the throngs of people to a lively group in the back near a bar station.

Yaxley stood flanked by some of the less prestigious members of the magical community, all of whom were taking turns at entertaining Yaxley in hopes of currying favor.

Based on the look of closed-lip amusement on the blond's face, Hermione doubted any were successful.

Then Snape parted the semi-circle of revelers with a quick snap of his hand, a dark Moses at the Red Sea, and genuine delight lit up Yaxley's eyes upon seeing them.

_Well, at least someone was successful at garnering attention._

"Miss Granger," he greeted a touch too warmly as she rose from her curtsy. His eyes were tilted down, meandering along her curves, stopping a moment on the bracelet before darting up to her dancing eyes.

She curled her perfectly-rouged lips in a teasing arc then demurred, "What a crowd you draw, milord. I would have thought the party for you."

He chuckled and the surrounding group followed suit with the polite sort of amusement of those still unsure what the punch line was.

Hermione couldn't wait to provide one, some point in the future. For now, she turned her face to Snape's shoulder, breathing into the fabric there. The warmth of her breath released the pungent scent of herbs that seemed embedded past his clothing layers, deep into his skin. It filled her lungs, as bracing as oxygen.

Yaxley's and the others' laughter had dissipated, so Hermione turned her attention back outward; the Minister of Magic was currently bent at the waist with one hand outstretched, the one with his crest.

An offering. A public declaration of another sort.

Hermione swallowed back nerves as Yaxley rumbled from his deferential position. "Then let's show them who the party is really for, shall we?"

She felt the breath back up in Snape's lungs; she looked up at her fiance questioningly, worrying that she was going to cross some line of propriety but the man's black stare was made blacker as it seared the top of Yaxley's head. _Interesting. Puzzling. Did this man know not how to be an enigma?_

Nonetheless, the game had to be played, and Yaxley was essentially serving her a trump card. She placed her hand in the Minister's, the cool metal of her bracelet nudging up against the cream silk of the man's gloves. Moving backwards, back towards the more open floors at the center of the ballroom, Hermione tugged Yaxley along.

"You flatterer," she laughed into his shoulder as strains of a waltz drifted down from the ceiling. They started the 1-2-3-4 steps over the gleaming hardwood. They twirled, the eyes following them, and Hermione attempted to project every ounce of faux merriment that she could outward for all those openly curious gazes.

Yaxley, meanwhile, seemed much more interested in what was happening right within his arms. His hand, ever proper, remained hooked around Hermione's shoulders but his fingers stroked the lace back of her dress. The satin of his glove created a friction that she was desperate to pull away from, like nails on a chalkboard.

She turned her attention back to him and found his eyes agleam with plans and plots.

"You make quite the impression, as I knew you would."

His assessment didn't impress Hermione as she stared back at him, waiting. One caught more flies with honey.

She would not be a fly.

The pause left for gratitude grew long, leaving space for half a dozen emotions to play over Yaxley's face, the most identifiable to Hermione being the final one.

Admiration, just a hint of it, tucked in the crow's feet at his eyes. She imagined it wasn't an emotion he gave away willingly, and so she kept her face Snape-ishly blank, cocking it just so.

_Is that all, milord? _It said.

Yaxley leaned in, just a hair. It felt miles closer to Hermione.

Into her temple, he breathed, "I'm afraid not all have been impressed by you, though, my dear. I would hate to move forward any further without Council approval, hm?"

_Unbelievable._

Hermione could feel the edges of her cool, calm, collected demeanor crumpling into ire over yet another loophole to jump through, like she was some circus performer.

_Fool the Minister? Check._

_ Fool the entire Merlin-be-damned Council?_

Not being able to say what she really wanted to, Hermione just bowed her head in concession as the song drew to a close. Yaxley remained on the clear space of the ballroom floor, as if the crowd would shift to him rather than he to it, while Hermione scanned the multitude of black suits for Snape.

Suddenly, the night felt an age longer.

oOo

Severus didn't think the evening was ever going to end. From his peripheral vision, he watched as Yaxley finally finished getting on far too familiarly with Miss Granger, a fact that she did not seem pleased by as she impatiently scanned the room.

Presumably looking for him.

Severus excused himself from the nattering of some mid-level Ministry prat, a conversation he had not been engaging in in the first place, and moved to cut his flustered fiancee off at the pass.

If he also used it as an excuse to brush up against her, well, none had to be the wiser.

The top half of his body whispered against hers and, clever witch, she didn't exhale in surprise or say 'excuse me'. Miss Granger leaned into the contact like it was a brick wall to rest a weary back on, like she was perfectly aware that in a room full of sods salivating after her, only Severus would be the one to touch her.

He wasn't sure whether to sink into or scream at her blind trust. So he chose to scold.

"Your frustration is showing."

The words fell from his mouth, a nit-picking nag. Miss Granger's fingers on both hands locked together in a grip that looked capable of strangling the vexation right out of him.

_What the fuck did Yaxley say to her?_

He wanted to be the type of person that would offer to get a drink or to soothe her ruffled feathers with a tender hand to her shoulders.

He wanted to knock Yaxley's fucking teeth out.

In the time that he was contemplating the actual reality of that plan, his fiancee seemed to transform. All that fiery frustration she had encapsulated in her grasp crystallized- an icy confidence took its place on her expression, in her pulled-back shoulders.

Their gazes clashed and she said, "I'd like to meet some Council members now." Miss Granger looked about, her eyes on some unknown trail/task? Before they landed behind Severus' right arm.

"Lord Lucius Malfoy, if you please."

A vision of Yaxley, toothless, still hovered at the forefront of Severus' mind but he was determined for Miss Granger not to do this evening on her own.

_Equality on the decisions we bear_

Her bedstraw crown around his wrist felt heavier than usual.

Proceeding in a wide circle around the outskirts of the room, Severus led Miss Granger to where he last saw Lucius holding court. Like any proper evil hierarchy- Severus paused a moment and thought back to Dumbledore- make that any type of hierarchy, every level of power had a leader. It was no surprise that Lucius was one of them.

His sleek blond hair was pulled back, standing in contrast to the simple black but very expensive suit. In one hand he held a crystal flute of champagne and in the other, the walking stick that he was so fond of.

A sneer about peacocks in evening wear built behind his teeth but Miss Granger was already proceeding into a deep curtsy.

"May I present Miss Hermione Granger?" Severus said, pressing the pleasantry past an aching jaw, tired from holding back insults all evening.

Lucius, turning his nose down at her respectfully bowed head, merely intoned, "We met."

He barely paused in the sipping of his beverage to deliver the cut.

Miss Granger seemed intent on interruption, regardless of Lucius' rudeness.

"Quite a few times actually, milord," she said in response as she straightened. "I especially recall the gathering in your dining room at Malfoy Manor most recently."

Miss Granger smiled then but the words weren't softened by it; no smile would be bright enough to outshine the dark intention behind the euphemism.

The elder Malfoy passed off his half-sipped drink onto the next floating tray and curled both sets of fingers around the head of his walking stick, contemplative.

She stared right back. Silent challenge emanated off her like an aura. It was heady and pervasive but Lucius, master conversationalist in all aspects, didn't bend to it.

Grey eyes flicked to Severus, dismissing Miss Granger entirely.

"Congratulations on your pairing. I sense an adventure ahead of you."

Severus nodded because he couldn't really refute that, nor did he wish to expound on it.

Miss Granger, however, found it a perfect opportunity to reenter the conversation. "He so loves an adventure, don't you Lord Snape?" She plowed ahead, not expecting a response from him.

"What about you, Lord Malfoy? Do you consider yourself an adventurer?"

A beat of silence, in which Lucius blinked slowly at Miss Granger as if he would better absorb her that way. Then, he conceded curtly, "Merely a traditionalist."

_You can't sway me_ is what Severus heard.

"Ah, a shame," she tsked and settled her hand in the crook of Severus' elbow. He could feel the steel under her touch, incontrovertible, unsway-able in its own right. "It can be so invigorating, trying something new."

Her touch, mixed with the provoking purr in her tone had Severus agreeing.

Had him aroused.

He didn't recognize this iteration of Miss Granger, silkiness atop steel, the mystery of its tempting, unknowing depths.

He wanted to explore that, immediately, learn all the corners and map the valleys. So he turned to Malfoy and without an ounce of irony said, "It's true. I'd recommend it."

Then, Severus bowed his head in dismissal and pulled Miss Granger toward the nearest exit.

oOo

Hermione was annoyed. All that verbal ping-pong, the near _simpering, _in hopes of coaxing some real concessions out of Malfoy and Snape just cut it short.

He supported her, a pleasant surprise, but then tore her away as if the floor turned to fire. Hermione wasn't even satisfied with her assessment of Snape's actions and she huffed her exasperation behind him as he made his way toward the exit. Snape wouldn't panic at a fiery floor. His stygian gaze alone would probably turn it back to stone.

Regardless, something spurred him and she was the collateral baggage. They were about three meters from the door when the path became blocked, by none other than Ron.

Hermione didn't even realize he had been invited to the engagement ball, that he would attend. That he would make a complete arse of himself staring daggers at Snape.

The man drew up short as a long-suffering sigh escaped past his lips. Hermione bumped into her fiance from behind, coincidentally using the physical contact to jab Snape in the kidney with her elbow for his lack of manners.

After all, it shouldn't be only she who was responsible for keeping an emotionless facade.

He grunted then asked shortly, "Can we help you, Weasley?"

Jaw jutting out at a rather unattractive angle, Ron looked to Hermione and said belligerently, "Hermione can." His face melted into the familiarity of speaking her name, blue eyes turning into pools of nostalgia. Hermione figured he was thinking back to the only other ball they were at together, the only other time he could have asked her.

"Would you dance with me?"

"No." The quickly spoken word didn't come from Hermione, soft in its roundness and apologetic, but from Snape, whose gravelly voice sharpened it into pointed rejection. Snape turned, creating a little bubble of intimacy to simultaneously address Hermione and dismiss Ron.

"You wanted to make rounds with Council members. This Weasley is not one. If you need to interact with a ginger, then do so with that one."

He nodded stiffly over her shoulder; Hermione, already hot with increasing irritation, was slow to turn but when she did, it was to find said ginger approaching. Percy Weasley was looking droll but spectacular in his own set of suited tails, smile wide on his face as he dipped his head to Snape, then Hermione.

"Miss Granger," he practically hummed. The jovial energy seemed to be infectious as he offered his hand. Hermione took it with a stifled chuckle, a little surprised by Percy's affect on her.

They hadn't seen each other since that first covert meeting and reflecting back when she was in her flat afterwards, Hermione wondered if perhaps she imagined all the drastic changes to his person. But now as he twirled her expertly onto the dance floor, weaving in and out of the couples that were moving far too slowly for him, Hermione knew there was nothing to imagine.

He was a hurricane of energy and she got caught in his tailwind whenever she was near. It made the lonely job as a rebel much more agreeable.

He broke her train of thought with, "Happy birthday, Hermione. And congratulations, of course."

She almost rolled her eyes at his cheek, then remembered where she was. "Thank you," she responded. "What has you so cheerful?"

The wide circles of the dance carried them across the floor and away from too-close couples and eavesdropping ears.

"Fine wine. Political banter," he relayed once they were alone. He leaned in and breathed, "the atmosphere is ripe for a revolution."

Hermione smiled for real from the first time since she had been greeted by Neville.

"Is it now?"

Percy matched her delight, dimples Hermione didn't realize he had indented the too-angular cheeks. "Oh yes," he replied and moseyed them back toward the crowd, "do me the favor of looking at the guests' clothing. I think you'll be surprised to find a commonality more interesting than black coat tails."

At that, as if the room was listening and knew Percy's conversation had concluded, the music faded into the ether. He bowed over her lifted hand and the warm lights caught a glint of gold tucked into the top of his Oxford.

A tie pin. Small, unobtrusive, its shape like an epee.

Percy then walked away but before Hermione could seek out her irascible companion, she was assaulted from behind by a pair of pale arms. They carried the friendly hug of familiarity; yet, Hermione was still startled when she heard the dry scold of Draco Malfoy.

"Not proper form, Lovegood," he droned. Released from the hug, Hermione turned excitedly to find Luna Lovegood smiling at her.

Malfoy, whom Hermione then just remembered was Luna's arranged pair, stood by her side with a gloved hand that hovered surprisingly close to Luna's waist.

She brought her eyes back up to take in Luna's open face.

"It's been too long." The admission came out wistfully and probably a touch too truthfully for the audience. Luna, as always, breezed over the sentimentality.

"Oh, what is time but a notion contrived by humans?"

Malfoy was a tuning fork of exasperation, his whole body in its ferrety glory nearly vibrating from the words coming out of Luna's mouth. Hermione stepped closer to him, intent on confronting Malfoy for his insolence but Luna stopped her.

With a hand on Hermione's forearm, she turned her around and meandered towards the drink section as Malfoy followed behind.

"Don't worry about him, Hermione. He's quite taken with my loony-ness."

Hermione threw a startled, skeptical look over her shoulder at their skulking, blond shadow and was surprised to find a faint blush on his scowling face.

Feeling more comforted by Luna's situation, she allowed her to flounce them to a drinks station where they sipped flutes of champagne and chatted around all the lies and diversions that their current lives were built on.

That left them with few words and a long protracted silence filled by the unexpected arrival of Ginny and her pairing, Blaise Zabini. He looked well put together, which was understandable, since as Hermione heard tell, he had remained neutral during the last war. From the black of his closely shaven hair down to the dragonhide dress shoes, he looked like an apparition of night, save for a splinter of gold tucked into his satin tie.

A tie pin, identical to Percy's.

Hermione's gaze dragged curiously up his imposing frame to his eyes, as she greeted Ginny in the proper form of a kiss to the air by her cheek, catching the man's enigmatic stare.

It was both warmth and warning, cordiality wrapped up in a cautious gaze. When she stepped away from her friend, Zabini moved to enclose GInny at his side, performing a little bow of recognition at the same time.

_I see you _was etched into the tight tendons of his neck.

_I'm with you, _satin the perfect posture of his shoulders.

Hermione felt like she had probably too much to drink because the night had turned out to be ripe for revolution, as Percy said, but it was even more rife with surprise.

Hermione opened her mouth, eager now to engage in a conversation where she could be less masked, when the faces of Zabini and Ginny fell.

Luna, the dear, looked over her shoulder and exclaimed, "Professor Snape! Good evening."

Malfoy was on her left and dropped his head as he muttered, "For the love of Merin, Lovegood."

Hermione looked up to Snape who came even with her. His face was a thundercloud, dark brows slashed low over eyes dripping their disdain at Hermione's company; as usual, his grumpiness only stirred the rebellion in her and so, dropping her voice conspiratorially she addressed Malfoy.

"It's quite all right my Lord. Lord Snape can forgive the moniker so familiar to a former student." The words were husky honey, bringing the blond's head up with a surprised snap.

Everyone except Luna looked at Snape with a knowing anticipation, but the man was nothing if not enigmatic as the smallest sigh of concession pressed through the crack of his frown.

"Indeed." He said, softer than snow. "Miss Granger, I have need of you."

Then she was towed away for the second time that evening, to the immensely satisfying vision of her peers open-mouthed with shock.

oOo

Severus could kill her or he could kiss her.

She chuckled under her breath and his grip on her bare arm tightened, before remembering that it would be a shame to find a replacement pairing this late into the secret revolt. Kissing would have to suffice.

His body hummed in agreement, that it would more than suffice.

Luck was not on his side though as a spotlight from above fell like a halo around the couple. They froze in place. Severus slid his hand down Miss Granger's arm under the pretense of a caress, his thumb catching on the goosebumps it left in its wake, and suddenly he felt like the spotlight was a Legilimens that everyone could see.

Exposed, his hand fell away unbearably hot from the ire of being caught, observed.

Probably even judged.

Then a voice, magnified by a 'Sonorous' spell, punctured the air.

"Welcome, everyone, to my home." A second spotlight filtered down and landed on Longbottom, who stood nonchalantly up on a chair. "At this point, I'd like to publicly congratulate the guests whom we honor tonight with this engagement ball."

Everyone's stare swung back to them. Severus was too occupied with looking over the many heads and keeping his face placid to notice how a glass of champagne materialized in front of him.

He clasped it, waiting. He looked to Miss Granger, aching.

"To Lord Snape and Miss Granger!"

The crowd applauded, the claps sedate between fingers wrapped around crystal flute stems. It didn't even have a chance to dissipate before another voice rang out, a voice Severus had hoped to avoid the remainder of evening.

Yaxley walked out of a shadowy corner, a ball of light bouncing behind him and simultaneously casting him in ominous relief.

"Friends!" he greeted. "I think it's time we see our favored couple step out together for a dance."

The crowd applauded again with a touch more fervor behind it, giving Severus no choice but to swing Miss Granger onto the floor. She fell into the steps of the waltz gracefully, like they were as natural as breathing.

Like any pureblood who'd been taught from childhood. He tucked away that vision for later dissection, then afforded himself one brief look down the length of his nose.

Miss Granger's expression was one of open pleasure, a joy stripped to the bone and yet just as fundamental. It filled Severus with a strange, borderline unpleasant gnawing in his gut.

He pursed his lips tight, wishing the song would just end. The evening kept cycling into another layer of Hell, adding more and more struggle to the task of binding himself to Miss Granger.

The worst of it was, Severus couldn't quite muster the resentment that would come more naturally for any other sacrifice.

As the song faded into a few soulful notes, Severus drew together his resolve, knitting it back into his Occlumency walls as he offered a short bow to his fiancee.

Whatever inconvenient feelings he may be having for Miss Granger, there was no place for them in their marriage or their mission.

oOo

_12:30AM, Longbottom Estate_

The evening's festivities were winding down and as her birthday turned into the day-after, Hermione couldn't help but feel a bit grateful.

Her birth may not have been acknowledged at all, but she felt noticed nevertheless.

Many of the guests had left, including quite a few Cabinet members that Hermione felt confident were now more approving of her.

That could, of course, be just the champagne talking. She'd had quite a bit of it and although the bubbles had long dissipated from her tongue, she currently felt like she was levitating over the floor.

Then she bumped into her soon-to-be husband and came staggering hands flew out, keeping her shoulders from pitching too far forward but nothing could stop her stomach from dipping dangerously. Belatedly, Hermione noticed that he removed his gloves.

Snape's warm fingers contracted on her bare skin, a wordless scolding, before setting her to rights.

"I think it's time to return to your home," he said a bit sourly. His eyes were pitch black but heated as they traveled over her form and Hermione's stomach rolled for the second time in as many minutes.

Entirely different reason. Entirely different sensation. Delicious possibility spiraled out from it, igniting both her blood and boldness.

"Don't get your coat tails in a tangle, milord," she quipped, scanning the room. "I'll say my farewell to our hosts and then you can be relieved of your duty of me."

Snape's lips drew together tightly at that, which only deepened Hermione's pleasure. She really had to stop saving all of her charm for the Cabinet members, as Snape's displeasure proved more satisfying than their shock.

On increasingly unstable heels, Hermione clicked away, finding Yaxley cozied up in a study off the main ball0room. He was bent over a ream of parchment as his shrewd eyes devoured the neat little lines of script that covered it.

He was so engrossed that he didn't even notice Hermione's presence until she placed her hands on the broad desk.

"No rest for the wicked it seems," she only half-teased. Yaxley's attention snapped up, taking a leisurely stroll up her lithe form that leaned over the desk. Each time his gaze took that prolonged journey, Hermione's nerves sizzled.

His smile bared even, white teeth.

"What would you know about wicked, Miss Granger?"

"Plenty." She pushed off the desk and wrapped her arms behind her back. The combined strain of putting on a show for the past 6 hours with a stomach filled only with champagne had Hermione at the edge of exhaustion. She backed toward the door, attempting a playful sway of the hips at the same time.

"He's actually waiting to take me home so-" she winked as if it was all an intimate joke then curtseyed. Yaxley's eyes bore into her as she eased the door open.

"Fare thee well, Minister," and Hermione slipped out before the fiend could trap her in her own web.

Hands shaking, she set off to find Neville who thankfully would be a much easier, more authentic parting. To her surprise, he was waiting just outside the entrance to the ballroom, looking noticeably more tired.

When Hermione raised a brow in question, Neville cracked a smile and admitted, "I followed you out." He paused and the smile slid from his face like too-warm icing. "Are you okay? I know the Minister is back there working."

Hermione brought her hands together and interlocked her fingers. The trembling just barely ceased.

She wanted to answer Neville, to ease whatever concerns he may have, but there wasn't a single drop of concession left in her. There was also little energy for truth especially in so public a hallway. She managed to turn the corners of her lips up in a tired, wobbly grin.

"Thank you for hosting such a lovely event." As she breezed past him, her hand clasped his elbow in a brief moment of solidarity.

Then she gratefully moved to Snape who waited on the other side of the ballroom door.

oOo

_1AM, Outside Hermione's flat_

They landed with a soft thud outside Hermione's door. The aftermath of the disapparition turned her stomach unpleasantly. Without a thought, she leaned forward into Snape's grip until he had to shift his stern hold from her upper arms to the expanse of her shoulders.

Her breathy exhale was part giggle, part sigh as the warmth of his hands penetrated layer after layer of clothing. It felt addictive. It felt ephemeral and her fluttery, alcohol-laden hands reached out to try and preserve it.

Snape grunted at the contact as if her grasping fingers caused him pain, then muttered, "Let's just get you inside." Reaching behind Hermione, he turned the doorknob and eased the wood open but the movement was enough to throw the witch off balance. She stumbled backwards, her back smacking into the narrow wedge of door, jolting a laugh out of Hermione as she strove to anchor herself along the slice of wood.

Head tipped upward, she gazed at Snape through hooded eyes. Her response to his sour muttering rolled unconsciously from her mouth, a tumbling toffee, too sweet not to be shared.

"Not unless you join me."

His nostrils flared out at her bold offer; his eyes dipped in an elongated blink, the movement stretched infinitely long before snapping back like an elastic. Snape's eyes opened, his hand cupped her chin roughly, and his lips fell on Hermione's like a rainstorm.

Hard, unrelenting, they pressed against her slightly parted lips until they molded to the shocked 'oh' of her drank in his warm, angry exhale and it sparked her lethargic body to action.

Finally, her hands came up, one curling into the length of his loosely strewn hair, and tugged.

He growled. His fingers pressed into her pulse points only causing it to race faster. The kiss shifted position, a charting of territory, the pace remaining bruising as if the moment couldn't span across one hundred more, as if the slightest release of pressure would rocket them in opposite directions.

Severus was all around her, a cloak on her skin and a thrum in her blood and she felt it deeper to some untouched part she couldn't even name.

She named it now, as his lips commanded her open so his tongue could score the inside of her cheeks with sin.

_Severus. Severus. Severus._

It grew in her mind until it no longer could be contained and her lips broke away from the play of his tongue and lips.

"Severus," she gasped on a heady inhale.

He blinked back to the present, quick as a heartbeat. He backtracked with a lunge, disapparating with an overloud crack.

* * *

**A/N: I know right? Did I ever think I would become this fanfic author? I'll blame the pandemic. I hope everyone is staying safe and if you're still out there, bored at home, then at least I finally got something to you! I hope you enjoyed and be sure to circle back to Interlude 4... I'm sure it will make more sense now. :)**

**Scribbles for Interlude 5 are being worked on but no promises my dear readers. Best efforts, though.**


End file.
